


Chevaline

by faceslikebirds (bluedreaming), fragment11 (bluedreaming), kaithartic (bluedreaming), waveslikebones (bluedreaming)



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, SS501, f(x)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Death, Disturbing Themes, Food, Food Metaphors, Gen, Minor Character Death, Murder, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/faceslikebirds, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/fragment11, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/kaithartic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/waveslikebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And The Lord said, <em>What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oubliette

**Author's Note:**

> [poster](http://i.imgur.com/sxl5ck3.jpg)   
>  created by [my_deardiary](http://www.asianfanfics.com/profile/view/339362) at [s w e e t r e m i n i s c e n c e](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/956703/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original intention of this story was transposed from Jongin/Junmyeon to Minseok/Yifan and written as [Strange Fruit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3743149) in a somewhat changed format.

 

_dancing for him_  
_dancing for her_  
_king of the hill_  
_queen of the world_

 

The tall boy sings under his breath, walking down the street, oversized leather bag flying through the air as he moves his arms in time with his footsteps under the dying glow of summer. He nods to an older women in her front yard, deadheading the flowers before winter.

"Good afternoon!" His voice is cheerful. She looks up from plucking off a dried white flower from its stalk and smiles. _Good afternoon_ she signs, her fingertips stained with green.

A bus pulls up to the bus stop and disgorges a gaggle of giggling teens; his classmates apparently.

"Hi Jongin!" A tall girl with gorgeous legs peeking, stretching out of black shorts sees him first.

"Hi Soojung," Jongin waves with one hand, the other holding the handles of the bag. It's quite heavy.

"Why'd you skip class today?" A tall boy with blond hair that's a little too long but still too short to tie back asks him, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown.

"I was a little...occupied." Jongin shrugs, the shoulders of his plaid blazer rising slightly. A tendril of brown hair falls into his eyes; he flicks it back with a long finger.

"Dance practice again?" A shorter, black-haired boy looks up from his book. His expression might be sympathetic, but it could also be a leftover expression from the passage he's reading. Japanese murder mysteries have that kind of effect on Kyungsoo.

Jongin shrugs again, and eyes the cover of the book. "That's a good one."

"It's okay," Kyungsoo says, frowning. "I prefer the ones where the murderer gets away." He shuts the book with a sharp snap and grins unexpectedly. "Do you want to go to a movie this weekend? They're showing Let the Right One In and Let Me In back to back."

"That's the one where she tears the body into pieces, right? Can I join?" Sehun asks, then eyes Soojung suspiciously.

"Don't worry," she flips her hair dramatically over one shoulder. "I'm too busy for boring dismemberment. I have a manipedi booked."

Sehun sticks out his tongue and the three wander off down the street. Soojung looks over her shoulder at Jongin, walking a few steps back.

"Do you want to the library with us? We're going for French food after." She looks at him expectantly and both Sehun and Kyungsoo slow, waiting for Jongin's answer.

"I'm a little busy still," he replies, "but I'll join you for French of course."

"Ugh, you and your beef tartare," Sehun grimaces. "That's so gross."

"Shut up," Kyungsoo says, wacking the blond with his book. It's a hardcover, and the resulting sound is loud.

"Ouch!" Sehun stops and rubs his head, glaring at the shorter boy.

"Oh, do you think Zitao will want to come to the salon on Saturday with me?" Soojung asks. "I was going to ask him today but he wasn't in class."

Jongin flicks his eyes down at his hand, leather straps pressing lines into the skin of his palm. "I think he might be a little tied up,"  he says.

"Oh okay." She looks a little disappointed, while Kyungsoo looks at Jongin, a calculating expression on his face.

"Don't be late."

Jongin nods, and the three walk ahead of him up the road into the dying sun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/247873.html).


	2. La petit mort

 

_Haunting the ancient city like a ghost of days long past,_  
_the man in the fedora lightly brushed a non-existent speck of dust_  
_off the sleeve of his wool coat before dissolving into the mist,_  
_leaving behind only questions._

 

The tall boy lets his eyes run over the words on the page, little valleys and hills of black type font on creamy paper, fingers running smoothly over the spine as he comes to the end of the chapter and lets the book fall closed with a sharp snap. Dust floats up into the air, tiny worlds jarred out of their spheres of existence, rearranging themselves like parallel universes twinkling in the sunlight.

"Hi." A voice appears to his side, his exhalation stirring the air and setting the trajectories of the worlds awry. The boy inclines his head slightly, but does not acknowledge the intruder.

"You're Jongin, right?" The voice is persistent, melodious and yet somehow slightly nasal. It will not be dissuaded. Jongin slips the book back onto the shelf, marking its position in his memory.

"Yes," he says, arranging a smile onto his face before turning to smile magnanimously at the shorter boy, holding a stack of book in his arms. The cover on the top reads _The Marquis de Sade_. Jongin's smile becomes slightly less glazed.

"Kyungsoo said you know all the good books," the boy says. His hair is curly, like a poodle. Jongin feels like touching it.

"That depends on what you like," he replies instead, tucking his hands into his pockets and looking at the clock. Dance practice in fifteen minutes.

"I like things where the murderer gets away," the boy says. "I'm Jongdae by the way."

Jongin eyes Jongdae speculatively. There's not time right now, but. . .

"Meet me at the library tomorrow," he says, and pauses for a moment, watching Jongdae's eyes brighten. It's interesting. "Five o'clock, the foreign fiction section."

Jongdae is grinning widely as Jongin walks away between the rows of shelves, his lips turning upwards at the corners like the Cheshire Cat. He pauses, foot raised slightly, hovering over the threshold of the bookstore door, to ask a question.

"What do you think about French?"

"The food or the books?" Jongdae asks, but Jongin is gone. 

That night, lying in bed, Jongdae remembers Jongin's smile, the sharpness of the lines. He imagines leaning forward, lip brushing against lip, teeth against skin. Jongin's mouth tastes like rust.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/304015.html).


	3. sang

 

_. . .and then he was screaming but there was no one to save him._

 

The pages flip to the scarlet end papers; another conclusion, glorious in its unexplained finality. Sometimes the reader prefers to imagine the ending for themselves.

Another Sunday morning at mass; the pews are hard and the stone under his feet is cold. Someone, probably Soojung, is whispering to Sehun four rows back about choirboys. Jongin ignores them, focuses on the front of the sanctuary, where the crucifix shines fully in the late morning sunlight trickling through stained glass. The priest is going on and on about Genesis from behind the pulpit and Jongin lets the words sweep over him and fall like acid rain on the wood of the seat behind. Jongdae is here, somewhere; he remembers seeing him walk in, a thick brown-covered book under one arm.

_And The Lord said, What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground._

The words are good ones, shaping a thought he's had lingering at the edges of his mind for days. Jongin runs his fingers over the wood grain of the seat, worn smooth from so many fingers for so many years, their innocence unequal. He smiles at the priest, and doesn't notice when the man skips a word and scrambles to find his place in the homily. The priest ends the service a whole ten minutes early, sweat beading on his brow which his wipes away with the back of a sleeve, dipping his fingers in holy water and imagining the skin burning.

Later, walking home from mass, Jongin stops at the edge of a field, breeze waving through the poppies growing along the road because it's spring, and listens. There's a rapturous expression in his face.

"Did you receive a visitation from heaven?" Kyungsoo's voice, dry as usual, drifts around the edge of the stone wall as he comes into view. Jongin just shakes his head.

"No," he says, "I was just listening to the memory of something beautiful."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/314841.html).


	4. le tapis rouge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** : contains graphic murder scene
> 
> The opening section of this story references the Hungarian film [Fehér Isten](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_God).  
> The song [A Little Death]() by The Neighbourhood greatly contributed to the plot.  
> This story was inspired by a fanart of Sehun (which I can no longer locate) and while looking for pictures I found a picture of Jonghyun (trigger warning for blood). It's from the live performances of Y Si Fuera Ella where he gets shot on stage as part of the choreo. In conjunction with the story I had already written below, by the time I found this photograph, it was incredibly disturbing to me. [photo](http://stuffpoint.com/shinee/image/429789-shinee-jonghyun-639.jpg) [‡](http://i.imgur.com/tXXVDSK.jpg)

 

_. . .humming along in agreement, the butcher proceeds to carefully flay the flesh of the cow, carefully removing the internal organs before proceeding to cut it systematically in half with the meat saw, the red meatiness vibrating slightly, gentle reminders of of was still alive as the carcass hangs from hooks, and parted, is passed to the meat inspector, who probes the flesh carefully before announcing it passed._

 

He isn't much of a book person. Lines of black on paper? Too monochrome. The cinema is so much better, a controlled loudness, splashes of colour and light in the dark.

Sehun likes red things. Red wine, red velvet cake. Red scarves. He likes making things red too; from where he stands, looking over the lovely picture, red on white, he smiles, drawing lines with his eyes along the parted skin.

"You're beautiful," he says, and he means it.

Redness drips from his fingers, from the blade, over the creamy skin of Jonghyun's chest. Jonghyun, with the wide eyes, throat seeping but he still smiles up at Sehun. Sehun likes him a lot.

"I really like you," he says, and draws a flower over Jonghyun's ribs as his chest contracts and fingers knot in the sheets, sodden by now, the redness dripping off to soak the carpet. Jonghyun looks up at him, he's not talking, and his eyes are hazy, indistinct. He's looking at Sehun like people admire a great artist from afar, with awe and admiration. Jonghyun is lucky, he gets to be the canvas.

A few strokes more, angry red, romantic red, passionate red, quiet red, and Jonghyun's eyelids slowly flutter shut.

"Thank you," Sehun says. He never fails to thank his canvases.

 

 

 

 

His phone goes off in his pocket as he's wiping the blades. Sehun finishes tucking them away in the case before answering.

"Hi," he says. He can't quite keep the afterglow out of his voice. The satisfaction of a job well done.

"Soojung and I are going out for supper," Kyungsoo says. " _La petite France._ Are you coming?"

"Is Jongin there?" Sehun asks instead, running his hands under the faucet to remove all traces of red from under his fingernails.

"He's not getting beef tartare today, if that's what you're asking," Kyungsoo says, and Sehun can hear the laughter in his voice. Kyungsoo is always so amused about Sehun's little inconsistencies. "There are fresh mussels in from the south of Britanny so we're having moules et frites." He can hear Kyungsoo talking to someone on the other side of the telephone.

"I'll be there," Sehun says, and dries his hands carefully on the towel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/320703.html).


	5. retrouvailles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** : graphic murder scene

 

_What happened, Mrs. X? Why are you here?_

 

Soojung likes cute boys. She likes the way their eyes spread wide, the way their lips are so red when you kiss them, the way they shiver when you drag fingernails over the delicate skin of heir necks, as they anticipate something else.

Cute boys are fun, she always thinks, stroking down this one's hair and running her fingers through the strands, listening to the happy gurgle in his throat. She nestles her nose behind his ear, inhales the smell of cologne, and underneath, the potent perfume of fear.

"It's lovely seeing you again," she whispers into his ear, as he twitches, fingers dancing over slightly trembling knees. She plops herself down on his lap, feels the hardness between his legs even despite the circumstances, as her lip curls a bit.

"I guess you're happy to see me too," she winks, her mouth grinning just a few ticks too wide, reflected back in his blown pupils as she leans forward for a kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck, ruffling through his hair as she sucks at his tongue, nibbles at the puffy skin of his lips.

Something slips out of her sleeve, white taffeta today, because white is a good colour to wear in the summertime and contrasts beautifully with her red hair. She bites down just a little too hard, iron washing over her tongue as the boy jerks back, but it's too late as the mystery in her sleeve pulls around his neck.

"You were always such a darling," Soojung says, and she knows her lips are crimson, glistening in the light. "Why didn't you stop when she said no?"

But Hyunjoong can't answer today, only a faint gurgling in his throat as she leans forward to claim his final words with her mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/353353.html).

**Author's Note:**

> Past comments [here](http://theblueintheday.livejournal.com/13865.html).


End file.
